Into the Light- Lost in Translation

by Michael White

  “How do they live there then?” asked Paul.

  “I think the question should really be, “why” rather than, “how”.” laughed the Groblette, “though they seem to have adapted well enough. In fact, if anything they thrive.”

  “But they are far to the northeast though?” asked Paul and Flip shook his head.

  “The Steel Keep in the city of Sulodien has over recent years seemed to have attracted more and more Groblette-Ru by the day. It is a city of the larger, to see. Yet something seems to beckon them there.” Flip thought about this as they marched along. “Or perhaps commands them to journey there. We are not entirely sure of course. The Groblette-Ra are hardly welcome in the Steel Keep these days. The last trade deputation that went there never returned.”

  “Well.” said Paul, “it all sounds like the Groblette -Ru are best avoided.”

  “Yes.” sighed Flip sadly, “that is certainly the case.”

  They fell into silence for a few miles, and soon it was time to stop for food. After this they set out again, their pace increasing slightly as they seemed to be on a plain that ran sloping downwards, not a steep descent but just enough to make them walk just a little bit quicker. Paul glanced off into the distance. Across the fields he could see some small white dots. Screwing up his eyes and squinting as hard as he could he could just about make out about thirty small dots in what appeared to be an enclosed field.

  “Are they cows?” he gasped, the sudden realisation that here was something that was almost normal; something he has familiar with. Following his pointing finger, Flip gazed casually into the distance.

  “They are.” said Flip and he smiled as a broad grin appeared on Paul’s face.

  “Something you are familiar with I see.” said the cook, “There are many larger farms off in that direction. The Inn itself is perhaps another five miles to the south.”

  “Finally.” laughed Paul, “no more biscuits!” Flip laughed too and the road seemed to almost fly under their feet.

  As the afternoon progressed Paul noticed even more farmlands on both sides of the road, though they were all some distance from where they all marched. He saw cows, sheep and once on a swift breeze he though he may have heard the sounds of chickens being carried across the hills. They all seemed to recede a little however as the road suddenly levelled off and twisted southeast a little, broad lines of what appeared to be oak trees now enclosing the road on either side.

  This continued on a little longer and then they marched onward and found themselves at the top of a slowly sloping hill, below the plain lay spread out before them. From here green plains ran further south, the occasional farm dotted amongst the slowly rolling hills. A greater expanse of trees ran off to the east, where on the horizon a mountain range could be seen in the distance. To the west and south however thick woodlands covered the ground as far as the eye could see. Directly below them Paul saw that there was a junction on the road and that five roads crossed here, running off in all five directions. Besides the crossing stood a large wooden building, and from their elevated position he could clearly see that the building was an inn of some sort, a large sign swinging outside it, the building being at least three storeys high. On the far side of it were raised several stables, and a small livestock field bordered the inn on two sides. As he looked he saw several people milling about outside the Inn, some sitting on small benches by the road, others leaning on the fence. His heart skipped a beat as he looked. They were not Groblettes! They were just like him!

  “The Last Oak Inn.” said Flip beside him, and smiling, they descended rapidly along the road down the hill and towards the building that lay sprawled about the hills below them.

  Chapter Eleven

  At the Last Oak Inn

  They passed a large sign post that stood in the centre of the five crossing roads and several of the patrons of the inn standing outside smiled and tipped their hats or just called out hello as they passed. Paul grinned from ear to ear as they entered the yard of the building and breaking the line they all made their way into the premises. Paul had to physically resist the urge to go and talk to one of the people the same as him to see if they knew where he was or could help him, but he did not. He was far too engrossed in what was going on all around him. As he made his way to the inn door Paul saw that the swinging wooden sign outside the building bore not just the name of the inn itself, but also a picture of a large single oak tree. Smiling, Paul reached the door and entered the building.

  Inside the inn was doing brisk business. It was a large room, clustered sets of tables and chairs being arranged in seemingly haphazard ways. There were two sets of furniture also, which gave the entire room a jumbled, confusing look. Some of the furniture was Groblette height, though most of it was more for the size of someone like Paul. There were a few green skinned Groblettes gathered about the place though, and they waved at the group as they entered, one set of weather worn Groblettes not far from the door giving them a lively cheer as they entered. The other Groblettes waved back and so Paul did so too, though they seemed to mostly ignore him.

  Beezle led the way as they entered the tap room, a long wooden bar running the whole length of the room, behind which were stacked numerous tapped barrels, some with obscure chalk letters on, others not. The bar itself was not too busy and behind it stood a tall, bald headed man, watching them enter with interest. He leaned both hands on the bar top, a small grin of almost amusement running across his face as he saw the Groblettes crane their necks upwards to speak to him.

  “Good evening landlord.” said Beezle, bowing deeply as he did so. The man behind the bar grinned even more widely, “We are humble travellers requesting rooms for two nights.” the landlord nodded, still not speaking, “Plus we require provisions for a journey of a month.”

  “That I can provide for the right price.” boomed the large man behind the bar.

  “A hot meal and flagons of your highly regarded ale would be welcome too.” said Beezle and again the landlord nodded, though he was casting his eye over the Groblettes arrayed before him, and then also on Paul too. His eyes seemed to linger a little while longer on Paul than the others, though his face showed no sign of having stared at him at all.

  “So ten small folks and one larger.” he said and Beezle nodded. “Provisions for the road I can provide too. I should be able to rustle up something for you to take with you, though most of it will be road food at best.”

  Beezle nodded gratefully.

  “That will be acceptable.” said the captain.

  “Fifty groats.” said the landlord, and Beezle looked as if she was about to exclaim a loud protestation but thought better of it.

  “And I am sure that your fine wares would be worth every groat spent.” sighed Beezle, “Yet we are just humble ship wrecked sailors trying to make our way overland back to Anchor Bay to report our loss to the Keel.”

  “Good luck on that one.” smiled the landlord widely, “Though do not let it be said that the landlord of the Last Oak Inn was a greedy man who took advantage of sailors down on their luck. Forty groats it is then.”

  “Perhaps we could double up in some of the rooms.” smiled Beezle, “Two to a room perhaps. Thirty groats shall we say?”

  The landlord grinned broadly as if he was enjoying himself tremendously.

  “I had already taken into account three to a room and four to another. One separate for the larger though. Forty is my best price.”

  Paul smiled as he realised they were referring to him.

  “I am more than happy to share with four others if it helps.” he smiled, and the landlord grinned again, “one Erm… larger room should be more than enough for me and three of my companions.”

  Beezle looked over her shoulder and up at Paul, winking as she did so.

  “Thirty-five then?” said the captain, and the landlord laughed loudly, spitting onto his palm and holding it down over the bar. Beezle shook hands and the deal was done.

  “Charles Horse.�
� said the proprietor of the Last Oak formally.

  “Beezle.” said the captain.

  “Sousain!” called the landlord over his shoulder, “Get filling the flagons! There are Groblettes about the place!”

  From a room that was presumably behind the bar entered a small woman with long black hair, smiling as she counted the new residents of the inn and pulling the appropriate number and size of flagons from hooks above the bar. She had big bright eyes, her pupils as dark as the night, and skin as smooth as a breeze on a summers day. Paul thought that she was quite possibly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and looking at the ale that she was already beginning to pour he felt that he had never been as glad as he was right at that moment to meet her.

  “Take a seat, gentlemen.” she smiled in a broad accent, “and I shall bring your drinks to you presently. There is a venison stew in the pot if you would care to indulge?” The grins of all those before the bar was enough evidence to presume that they would.

  They took a table that was Groblette sized, Paul perched at the end on a stool that meant that he hovered above everyone else. Soon the drinks arrived and shortly after steaming bowls of the tasty stew. Paul demolished his greedily, as did the Groblettes, and soon second helpings arrived with more drinks.

  Paul sipped the ale hesitantly. It seemed to be slightly sweet, as if honey had been involved in its fermentation somehow, and it had a slight kick to it that made him suspect that perhaps it was an awful lot stronger than he had first taken it for.

  “Drink it slowly.” said Sousain, winking at Paul as she refilled his flagon, “this is last year’s batch and it’s a right old head shaler that’s for sure!” Paul laughed but he paid good heed to what she had said, sipping the ale slowly. She turned away, serving the other Groblettes gathered about the table.

  By now the events of the last few days were beginning to wear on him and he found himself slipping further and further down onto the table. It was when he suddenly found his forehead leaning on the table top that he realised that it was best that he retired for the night. The Groblettes seemed just about ready to turn in for the night too; even Beezle looked weary, the cigar now motionless in her mouth. Paul found himself wondering if she had taken it out while she was eating. He had forgotten to look.

  Declining any further ale or food the company found themselves being escorted to their rooms, and Paul was relieved to find that as well as a large bed for himself there was also more than enough room for the other three Groblettes he was sharing with. Hastily casting his clothes into a heap on the floor he fell into the bed, and pulling the soft sheets up under his chin he had just enough time to think that this was quite possibly the most comfortable bed that he had ever slept in before he fell soundly and quickly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  **

  Breakfast the next day was taken in the main room of the inn, served by Charles Horse himself and Sousain. Great pots of strong, sweet black coffee filled the air with a strong aroma that Paul thought almost seemed to drag you awake just by the strength of the dark coloured brew. It had a rich, earthy taste and Paul liked it instantly upon tasting it for the first time. This was accompanied by what could only be some form of porridge, and then great loaves of hot bread and slices of thick ham. It was most certainly a change from biscuits, and Paul ate as much as the proprietor of the Last Oak put in front of him,

  “Have you eaten enough?” asked Sousain as she collected the plates.

  “Most definitely.” smiled Paul.

  “Ah well now.” she smiled, “if the biggest member of the troupe is full to the brim then the little ones are probably full to the top as well!”

  Paul saw Beezle shift uneasily on her stool as Sousain said this but then she seemed to sigh and brush it off. Technically Paul knew that he was a prisoner of sorts, and so was expecting that the captain had placed some sort of watch upon him, so it hardly came as a surprise when he wandered outside of the inn a little later on that he found another one of the Groblettes there already. Apart from Flip and Beezle and the seemingly permanently glowering Wahid Paul found it quite difficult to tell any of them apart, and so he felt himself stuck for introductions as he leaned against the outer fence of the Inn and the Groblette approached.

  “I am Wavebrite. You remember?” said the Groblette helpfully as it approached, ‘First navigator of The Axe and sailed for the Keel for some twenty years.” The Groblette waited almost as if Paul had to absorb this information and then he continued, “I know you are not familiar with my name but I am aware of course of your saving of Flip and so I offer you my greetings and gratitude as to your revival of our comrade and cook.”

  “Pleased to meet you again, Wavebrite.” smiled Paul, extending his hand to shake with the Groblette, but Wavebrite just looked confused, staring at his outstretched hand. Hesitantly Paul withdrew it, realising that to the Groblettes at least it was a custom they did not understand, “I am just taking some air and walking off my breakfast. A little fresh air never did any harm I am told.” It was at this point that Paul realised that he had not eaten any of the strange mushrooms yet and he could still understand the Groblettes! Perhaps they were finally working their way into his system just as the cook had predicted?

  “Oh yes indeed.” smiled Wavebrite, resting against the fence himself, “Though I fear that there may be a change in the weather on the way.” He pointed off to the far north. “Those black clouds spell rain to me if I am not mistaken.”

  Paul squinted to the horizon to see where he was looking and sure enough, far to the north a black line of clouds on the horizon did indeed seem to indicate that rain was on the way. He was quite impressed with the Groblettes eyesight for the clouds were only just visible on the horizon, but then he did think that the large eyes and yellow pupils were probably many times more efficient than his eyes were.

  “By evening I would say.” mused Wavebrite and Paul found himself lost for a few seconds as he looked out over the land. The mountains far away on the horizon seemed so far; unreachable, and yet over the last few days they seemed to have journeyed so far. It was difficult to say really just how far, but he slowly moved his area of focus. The new range of the mountains to the east seemed much closer.

  “Do these mountains here have a name?” asked Paul, pointing to the beginnings of the new range far of the east Wavebrite followed where he was pointing and nodded.

  “In the Groblette tongue they are known as the Aloof-sah Mountains.”

  “I see.” mused Paul, “What does that mean then?

  “Very big.” smiled Wavebrite, pulling a small pipe from somewhere inside his leather jerkin and producing a small flint box and pouch, began to fill it. Paul watched as he did so. Eventually a spark was struck and Wavebrite blew several small plumes of smoke into the morning air. Paul found himself sniffing at the smoke, which was sweet; perhaps overly so. He was surprised to think that he rarely thought about having no cigarettes now, and he did feel all the better for not having one. “Tend to be very literal do Groblette names.” puffed the Groblette, “Those mountains that are currently covered in dark clouds?”

  “Yes?” asked Paul.

  “They are the Vur-Spot Mountains.” Wavebrite seemed to catch the question even before Paul answered it, “Snow covered.” Paul smiled

  “I suppose you would give a river a name that would include the Groblette equivalent of “wet” then?”

  “You’re getting the hang of it, sir.” smiled Wavebrite from behind his pipe, smoke now rising high into the morning air, “Getting the hang of it you are indeed.”

  Smiling, Paul said his farewells to the Groblette, leaving him to enjoy his pipe. He made his way back into the inn considering whether to sleep off his breakfast or not. As he entered the common room however the barmaid Sousain was behind the bar. It looked as if she was washing flagons and she smiled cheerily at him as he came in from outside.

  “Good day sir.” she smiled, “Can I get you some ale perhaps? Or maybe a
morsel to eat?”

  “I am fine.” smiled Paul. He was not sure if he was tired or not but as Sousain and the landlord were the first real humans he had come across he thought it wise to engage with them if he could.

  “So why is it called The Last Oak Inn then?” he asked and Sousain smiled.

  “Not the first to ask that and probably not the last.” smiled Sousain.

  “Well there seem to be plenty of other Oaks off alongside the road.” said Paul, “just seemed odd really.”

  “Well they do say that the inn itself was built from but one oak tree. It must have been a big old tree sir, what with all the wood in the building. The tale goes that when the inn was built the land it was built on was made of one mighty oak and when it was cut it was the last oak on the grounds of the inn as such.”

  “Well, Handy to know.” said Paul without conviction. “Just one tree then.” The barmaid nodded, continuing to wash the cups.

  “I’ll be off to my room then.” he finished and made his way upstairs after Sousain had bid him a cheery good afternoon.

  He did not think that the march south had affected him much at all, but upon returning to his room and falling into bed he was asleep barely before his head hit the pillow. It was lunchtime when he awoke, a small light buffet being placed on a table in the main room of the inn for any who wanted to pick at. Paul was not terribly hungry but he did try a little of the cheese and pickles he found laid out there and found them to be terribly good. Half way through the common room the Groblette speech had become unintelligible again and it took Paul a few anxious minutes to find Flip and through mime show that he needed another mushroom.

  “Soon they won't wear off at all I think.” smiled the cook, “which is just as well. I have very few left.” Paul smiled and made some more small talk with Flip and Grun at their tables but eventually he wandered outside once again to take some air. The dark clouds were much nearer now, bearing down on the grass plains and the inn as if they were driven by an incoming tide of dark, swirling water. The air was noticeably chillier too, and there was a stiff breeze blowing that made Paul shiver a little in the cool afternoon air.